


Miscommunication as an Art Form

by somewhereelse



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, CEO Felicity Smoak, CEO Oliver Queen, F/M, Lack of Communication, Mild Language, Minor Roy Harper/Thea Queen, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: AU. Six of one, half dozen of another. Oliver and Felicity never seemed to be on the same page. They split hairs and crossed wires in every interaction. Maybe one day they’ll get it right.





	Miscommunication as an Art Form

**Author's Note:**

> To honor the series finale (I said series. Season 8 without Felicity can kiss my ass), I decided to return to my beginnings in this fandom: one-shot AUs. Clearly, my writing has really evolved. Also, I have no idea how this got to 11,000 words.

“Smoak.”

“Queen,” Felicity returned with an equal amount of measured politeness. Inwardly, she cursed his scruff, his hair, his suit, and everything else about Oliver that had been adjusted in minute degrees to optimize perfection. Her heart rate accelerated and, for a moment, she considered fleeing the gala. It’s not as if she could dismiss him or send him across the room on a fool’s errand.

Oliver shifted slightly closer and straightened his cuffs. Again, those minor adjustments only called attention to the nearness of him and his cologne, somehow persisting despite the overly perfumed scent dispersed through various discreet automated canisters. With almost obnoxious carelessness, he used his scotch glass to gesture at the room. 

“It’s a turnout,” he observed bluntly, a lackluster mockery of the typical small talk.

Given his lack of effort, Felicity rolled her eyes and responded with a terse, “Yes.”

“You brought a date,” was his next monotone observation.

This time, the eye roll was genuine. “Don’t get your teenaged hopes up. McKenna is the newest member of Smoak Tech.”

“A pity invite?” he stated more than questioned in a low murmur as if he were familiar with the concept and expected better from her.

“A magnanimous gesture of goodwill to welcome our new team member and introduce her to some soon-to-be familiar faces. And we encourage all employees in their philanthropic endeavors.”

Felicity recited the script easily. If not for those little tricks to (over)prepare for these events, she would be sequestered in a corner, reverted back to the IT support hanging— _hiding_ —out in the Queen Consolidated basement. With time and practice, Felicity learned how to present a slightly more polished version of herself to the public, one who was still an unabashed computer nerd but who could also function in social events without egregiously offending anybody.

Of course, Oliver had known her back in the day, when he was a completely useless VP—as opposed to a moderately useful CEO these days—and she an IT gremlin. And now, nothing seemed to bring him greater pleasure than to thoroughly trounce this façade she’d built of a sophisticated businesswoman. Any opportunity to make her stutter, stammer, or, best of all, devolve into babbling innuendo was pounced upon with a sly smirk and barely concealed amusement.

When she imagined building a successful company, she never also imagined being a proverbial ball of string for the entertainment of an entitled, privileged fat cat who inherited everything worthwhile in his life. Metaphorical fat cat, of course, because she was pretty certain one could grate cheese on Oliver’s rippled torso, or so she, lacking the firsthand knowledge, had heard.

But it’s not like she could just walk away from him, knowing what she knew even if he didn’t know she knew. 

They became acquaintances when Oliver had (stupidly) spilled a latte on his laptop then proceeded to tear through four IT specialists who declared the device unsalvageable. Her supervisor sent her up as a last ditch effort, a virgin (yeah, right) sacrifice of the one cute girl in his employ to see if she could soothe the beast.

Honestly, Felicity still didn’t know if Frank expected her to actually fix the computer or to have sex with Oliver to keep him from firing their entire department in a temper tantrum. And also honestly, Frank probably didn’t care which she did as long as he kept his job and could claim plausible deniability. Oh, Frank.

It wasn’t as if she—basement gremlin—and he—anointed heir—became friends or anything ridiculous after the incident. It was just that Oliver recognized her and gave her that douchey chin lift of acknowledgment in the rare circumstance they crossed paths because she was the weird girl who saved the family photos he never had occasion to backup. First, his work laptop was not a place to store those, and, second, adorable but not a good enough reason to pitch a fit at innocent underlings.

Then she found out through casual conversation with Walter Steele—the same conversation where he suggested etiquette and elocution classes as they also helped him early in his career, which was honestly the best advertisement possible since he was the most elegant man Felicity had ever met—that Oliver was responsible for her entire career. Okay, obviously not the entirety of it, but the catalyst to the most recent chunk.

When she first heard about QC’s venture capital initiative, Felicity laughed. A startup to help startups start up? It sounded like the most millennial thing to ever come into existence. But, hey, she was tired of toiling in a basement, it’s not as if her brain ever stopped churning, and if QC was throwing money at half-baked ideas with potential, why not hers? So she slapped together an application, submitted it, and promptly forgot until Frank ordered her to clear out her desk and she had a minor cardiac event thinking she’d just been fired with absolutely no warning.

Then to find out from a slightly tipsy British man, that Oliver had been the one to pluck out her application from the thousands, to champion her to the selection committee, to basically set her on the actual, tangible, financially viable path to Smoak Technologies.

Yeah, sure, she’ll stand there and let him tease her about her social awkwardness at the random events they happen to simultaneously attend. Apparently he’d made a hobby of playing fairy godmother and meddling in her life in the most unpredictable, well-intentioned ways, and it’s not as if she could really complain about the opportunities he tee’d up and she knocked out of the park. So who knew what happy accident this quirk of his might lead to if left unchecked? In fact, she’ll even stand idly by as he hit on her employees and trust that, as adults, things will progress only as far as consented. Speaking of that repellent habit of his...

“Hmm, it’ll be nice to see her again. Maybe I should _welcome_ McKenna.”

Oliver stepped away in a smooth glide that seemed a taunt all of its own.

Sure, his shamelessness saved her from having to carry on a stilted conversation with the man, but there was no hiding her aura of displeasure at the brazen flirtations. Belatedly, she recalled that McKenna considered Starling City home and perhaps this was a rekindling of an old flame. No one was technically on the clock, but there was still something to be said for professionalism and first impressions in front of your new boss.

As if sensing her gaze, Oliver glanced over his shoulder and winked at her. 

Felicity turned away with a displeased huff and decided to cut her losses. She wasn’t going to be a decent conversationalist in this state of mind—not that she was in the first place but now she couldn’t even remember her tips and tricks—and she didn’t need a(nother) front row seat to Oliver Queen’s conquests. Despite Walter’s successful example, she couldn’t imagine schmoozing ever getting easier.

Handing off her wine glass to a passing waiter, she made a swift exit through a lonesome door, unnoticed by all except one.

 

* * *

 

Oliver excused himself from McKenna and wandered casually to a side exit, slipping out but positioning the tip of his shoe to prevent the lock from engaging. 

Felicity was walking down the hallway back towards the main lobby, her bright red dress, nearly backless he could see now, a beacon against the generic ivory wallpaper. He thought about calling out to her, but she seemed weary, her shoulders drawn and, he guessed, her arms crossed over her stomach. She’d already disconnected from the event, and certainly from their pitiful conversation.

He blew out a sigh and watched until she turned the corner, out of sight, never really out of mind.

One day, he’d be less of a coward.

 

* * *

 

“Smoak.”

“Queen.”

An inside joke. An acknowledgment of the unimaginative laziness of their respective company names. Although, Oliver didn’t have much choice in the matter. He couldn’t exactly rename a third generation, multinational company on a whim. The PR team might have a collective heart attack and then where would he be?

“You brought a date.”

He searched for a hint of jealousy but couldn’t find one. Exasperation maybe, annoyance certainly, a healthy dose of “please don’t turn this into an employment lawsuit somehow” definitely.

It was supposed to be nice, easy, and uncomplicated. To minimize the appearance of an actual date as opposed to a convenient plus one, Oliver had a car sent to McKenna’s and met her at the venue. At the last minute, picking her up himself had just seemed so personal, which was not his intent.

No, his intent was to try to suss out Felicity’s interest in him. Too late he realized that using her employee/his old high school friend for such a scheme wasn’t exactly uncomplicated. Too many variables and all that. Oh well, he’d never excelled at science experiments back in school.

Humming noncommittally to avoid exacerbating his blunder, Oliver waited for Felicity to initiate the next topic of small talk. The size of the room and the number of attendees were their old standbys. But she declined to engage, and Oliver watched out of the corner of his eye as her jaw ticked in a deliberate effort to keep her mouth shut.

Taking advantage of her rare silence, Oliver carefully observed her. 

Her navy dress wasn’t new but simple and classic enough that probably no one would note the repeat wear, aside from himself who seemed to have an eiditic memory when it came to her wardrobe. In any case, why should anyone care when he, and most other men, rotated the same two or three nice suits without offending greater society? Her hair was down and curled slightly, and his fingers itched for a touch, but that was not them and he was in attendance with another woman, who he would later have ferried to her separate home in a separate car.

Under his slow scrutiny, Felicity shivered, and he just knew a brush down her arm would reveal goosebumps. In certain ways, he was very confident. He knew he had an effect on her but just... not the effect he wanted to have. Especially if her confused glance and blunt “What?” were any indication.

“I like you better in red.”

Mentally, he slapped himself. It was presumptuous and sounded more like a backhanded compliment than anything. Definitely not a “Do you like me? Please check yes.”

Her brow furrowed, and she frowned, glaring at him with blatant distaste. “Sucks for you,” she finally bit out before walking away.

 

* * *

 

What was wrong with him? Looking at her like that, saying things like that, when he was clearly interested in her employee. McKenna was obviously a fully realized human being in her own right, but in the context of her and Oliver’s acquaintance, Smoak Tech employee was a defining characteristic.

And wasn’t McKenna technically _his_ employee, too, in a strange, roundabout way?

Queen Consolidated still held the majority shares in Smoak Technologies, although the milestones for the buy back were well on schedule. Even though she knew he wouldn’t, Oliver should really take those dynamics into consideration for his indiscriminate dating habits.

Felicity paused in removing her heels as the realization hit her.

Did that make _her_ Oliver’s employee?

_No_ , she shook her head and went back to undoing the straps. Moot point because... _because_. No matter how her body reacted, she wasn’t going to put any stock in how he looked at her. After all, the man was indiscriminate in his pursuit of the female form.

 

* * *

 

She wore a black dress to the next event. Not that he would ever know or even notice, but it was a silent middle finger to their last conversation.

This time, Felicity stayed on the opposite side of the room from Oliver, not willing to deal with his... whatever. McKenna didn’t seem to be in attendance tonight, but she didn’t want to invite his strange, confusing attention. No matter how much she might owe to him for the start of her company.

Still, she never did shake the feeling of his gaze, and she never could quite lose track of Oliver, even during conversations with others.

 

* * *

 

Absent her usual colors, it took him a second minute to spot Felicity. The black dress was generic, but he still appreciated the view she made, especially when her hands flew around and her eyes sparked from behind her glasses during more animated discussions.

She gave him a wide berth and was continually engaged in conversation so he didn’t try to approach and risk offending her so soon again. Although it may have been his imagination, he thought he saw a glimpse of “fuck you” whenever their eyes did happen to cross paths. Oliver figured it was a reaction to his comment and an extension of the reasoning behind her black dress selection but enjoyed her attitude and backbone anyway. 

What quote did Thea always repeat after those trite romantic movies she subjected him to?

“The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference.”

At least Felicity wasn’t indifferent to him, although hate wasn’t exactly forward progress.

 

* * *

 

Due to product launches and conferences, Felicity had missed the last few charity events. She/Smoak Tech weren’t any less charitable but she sent representatives instead. Said representative usually ended up being McKenna for mainly the obvious reasons of why an attractive woman might make a good public face. That, and the woman enjoyed dressing up and partaking in the spectacle of the (Starling City) rich and famous.

Since McKenna attended the events on Smoak Tech’s ticket, Felicity assumed she no longer went as Oliver’s plus one although she refrained from seeking confirmation because, again, _adults_. Oh and she didn’t care, or tried to tell herself.

Obviously, Felicity was doing an excellent job of not caring because one day McKenna found a way to work into a project update the gossip that she and Oliver Queen were _not_ dating. That he was an old friend and she did him a favor and attended one event because he mistakenly thought having a plus one, who understood her role as buffer, would fend off boring business conversations, but it was most assuredly _not a date_.

“So do you need anything on the Fox protocol?”

Felicity was baffled by the abrupt segue back to work matters. She blinked stupidly at the woman with evasive and undercover training from the military and police but who apparently just couldn’t be bothered with subtlety today and shook her head mutely. McKenna nodded, with a small smile as if pleased with herself, and returned to her desk.

_What the ever-loving fuck?_

 

* * *

 

“Who’s the haircut?”

Felicity frowned at what he assumed was his relatively unkempt appearance. “Looks like you need one,” she replied, deliberately obtuse and evading his question.

So he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since he heard the news last week. Felicity Smoak and Ray Palmer: a match made in nerd heaven; queen and king of the computer geek prom, AKA the National Technology Conference; also his worst fucking nightmare.

Okay, sleep deprivation was not agreeing with him. The “Drama Queen” nickname did not need to make a glorious comeback, despite his shoddy appearance. His beard was days too long, his hair was untrimmed, his clothes felt loose since he hadn’t had an appetite in a few days and forcing himself to eat was no fun.

He hadn’t even wanted to leave his office, but a quick skim of the guest list confirmed Felicity’s attendance for the first time in what felt like a month, and, well, he was a sucker.

God, he was acting heartbroken over a woman he never even had the courage to ask out. Thought himself safe and in possession of plenty of time to grow a pair because she never had time to date. What an overconfident jackass.

“Oliver.” Felicity’s hand landed on his sleeve, and his head dropped so he could stare. Her fingers were tipped with pastel yellow polish, and the cheery color almost made him smile. Had she ever touched him before? She mistook his reaction and yanked her hand away, and he didn’t know how to get her back, resorting to looking at her with wild, slightly desperate eyes.

She frowned deeper, peering at him with genuine concern. “Are you okay?”

He swallowed whatever plea was about to make its escape and repeated his earlier question, “Who’s the haircut?”

“Ray?” Her soft smile felt like a knife sliding between his ribs. “My new collaborator.” 

_There’s a word for it_ , Oliver scoffed to himself.

“With any luck, I should be able to buy back enough preferred shares to repay QC’s initial investment by the end of the year. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“Congratulations on your wedded bliss. Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

Bitterness and sarcasm poisoned his every syllable, and Felicity recoiled visibly. Cringing, Oliver added spoiled jerk to his previous overconfident jackass description. 

Felicity didn’t belong to him, and he definitely shouldn’t begrudge her success. He knew this outcome was inevitable when he pitched her application to the selection committee. Hell, his first interaction with Felicity was watching her save his computer (after scolding him for tearing into her co-workers for his own mistake) because, yes, she definitely was smarter than those keyboard monkeys but also because she was more tenacious. Felicity didn’t know how to give up, handy quality given the misogyny of the industry she chose, so he barely had to read over her application to know she was going to be the easiest, most successful bet QC could make. And here she was, proving him right and ahead of schedule.

Oliver apologized before she could fully recover and finish asking what the hell was wrong with him. “Sorry. I’m just sleep-deprived. Congratulations.”

He left it at that, not trusting himself to avoid fucking up again.

After a wary stare down, Felicity conceded a dubious, “Thanks.” His head bobbed in acknowledgment, and he swayed forward slightly, trying to catch more of her perfume. Again, she mistook his action, this time for poor health, and offered solicitously, “Do you need anything?”

_You._

Thankfully, the thought didn’t have time to escape before she was off to the races.

“The food’s tiny as usual but pretty good. There are these onion cheese puff things that I’m not describing very well but are definitely a standout. I know that’s technically a low bar to clear, but you know how seriously I take my canapes.”

Oliver watched as Felicity rambled on about food, her second favorite topic in the whole world. She didn’t have that new relationship glow or a hitch in her step that he would absolutely leave if he got her in a bed, or against a wall, or in a car, or over a desk, or wherever really. He was a little indiscriminate like that when it came to dreams of Felicity.

If Felicity dreamed of anything besides complex algorithms and killer kangaroos, she probably dreamed of geniuses with Disney prince hair, ones who would understand her technobabbles and encourage her tendency to hunker down in front of the computer. (For the record, he would encourage plentiful breaks—sex, water, sex, food, repeat in that specific order—and provide back and neck massages.) 

His stimulating daydreams and her attempt to convince him to partake in refreshments were interrupted by said genius with Disney prince hair. Ray came rushing up to them in long strides, his swoop of hair bouncing lively. For a second, Oliver imagined Felicity pushing the mussed hair off Ray’s forehead in a loving gesture and he clenched his fists as the other man put the brakes on almost a second too late.

“Felicity! Dr. Stein has questions that I’m certain only you can answer. You wouldn’t mind excusing us, would you?” Forgoing any attempt at introductions, Ray turned to Oliver with a sheepish, apologetic smile. “She’s a genius, you know.”

“That she is,” Oliver grit out, annoyed because he didn’t need to be told by some stranger. “You’re a lucky man,” he congratulated with a pained grimace.

“Standing right here,” Felicity mumbled discontent and unimpressed at being spoken of instead of to.

Ray responded with a (patronizing, in Oliver’s opinion) smile that made Oliver want to punch his shiny, white teeth. “And I already don’t know what I’d do without you,” he offered to placate. Without acknowledging Oliver again, Ray gallantly extended the crook of his elbow, and without hesitation, Felicity slipped her hand through.

Briefly, Oliver closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief after he opened them again and could no longer see the couple.

 

* * *

 

That Oliver made sleep-deprived look so good was just another unfair fact about his inherited lot in life. The man was admittedly unwell and still possessed the attractiveness of a brooding lord of the manor in a romance novel. For fuck’s sake, Felicity, who hadn’t inherited or cultivated a single culinary skill, wanted to make him soup and bundle him off to bed with a nest of fluffy blankets. 

Maybe she’d tag along for some Netflix and cuddling—

_No. No! Bad brain!_

Sighing, she dropped onto the end of her bed at the same time her phone beeped to indicate an email on her work account. Then another and another. With an exaggerated groan, Felicity heaved herself upright and went in search of the fire to put out.

Work and a repressed—but increasingly unrepressed—attraction to Oliver Queen were her only constant companions in life.

How depressing.

 

* * *

 

“Where’s Ray? We weren’t properly introduced last time.”

Felicity thought she heard a hint of sulking in there and looked at him in confusion. He certainly appeared recovered. Or maybe Thea had taught him the benefits of cover-up. 

“At home. His girlfriend isn’t feeling well. Although I guess “well” is a relative term when you’re thirty weeks pregnant. I mean, Nora’s intimidating when she’s in a good mood so I can’t imagine what she’s like all hormonal and uncomfortable. Although I guess Ray’s the best person for that job since he’s so relentlessly cheery, you know? She could probably throw a tablet at his head, and he’d just compliment her aim.”

Oliver straightened quickly, fixing her with an intense stare while she babble about two people he didn’t know and their relationship. 

“You’re single?”

_Wasn’t she always?_ Felicity mused sarcastically even as she replied, “No.”

Oliver’s posture relaxed before he released a tired, insincere laugh. “Of course you aren’t. Who’s the lucky guy then, if not Palmer?”

Felicity shrugged and decided to pivot. She might scream if Oliver was fishing to set her up like he’d assisted her career. As a woman in possession of a certain amount of dignity, there was only so much more she could take from the man she pretended not to be enamored with and who saw her as nothing other than a pet project. Fix her career, fix her love life, was he going to call her mother next?

“I was thinking of naming the new laser Floyd. Don’t know why. Just feels right.”

Blinking exaggeratedly, Oliver’s forehead scrunched up. “What?” he finally asked, as if concerned that he’d somehow lost the plot instead of her abruptly changing the subject.

“Married to work. Remember?” Felicity held up her left hand as if showing off a nonexistent ring. “Heard you’ve been the same.”

Despite her better sense, she couldn’t help but return the inquiry. But, her attempt at a casual inquiry into his romantic escapades—maybe not the correct wording since she doubted romance played a large part—was unsuccessful.

Oliver, looking panicked and stressed and confused, again blurted out a, “What?”

“That’s what you texted McKenna?”

“Oh right,” he replied faintly after a moment like he couldn’t recall where or when or how he’d disappointed this particular woman. “I hope she wasn’t offended.”

Felicity rolled her eyes, doubting his level of concern. “Pretty sure she was just in it for the free champagne,” McKenna had said as much, and if the thought dented Oliver’s ego, all the better, “Apparently you were very clear about it not being a date.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Right. Wouldn’t want to tie you down.”

“Optimistic of you to assume it can be done.”

And on that note, Felicity excused herself. She had enough of putting her heart through the ringer. Infatuated with a man intent on milking his bachelor days until his death bed. Some genius she turned out to be.

 

* * *

 

Oh he would happily be tied down. As long as Felicity was the one doing the tying, metaphorical and literal. But there was no way of conveying that without being the ultimate creep. 

So he stayed silent and let Felicity assume the lesser of the evils, that he was a feckless playboy with only nominal consideration for the women discarded along the way. 

Obviously not the best look but Oliver hadn’t known exactly how to extract himself from that potential debacle with McKenna except for the old standby of work. At least he didn’t have to try hard to stay occupied with investor conversations so the excuse would be true. The next day, he sent a text that he appreciated her company but having a plus one hadn’t gone as planned and thanked her for both the favor and forgiving his inattentiveness but work had to come first. She responded with her understanding.

He hoped it was friendly without banging on so heavily about not being a date, but still emphasizing that it was _not_ a date. In the unlikely, but hoped-for, event he and Felicity became something, he didn’t want McKenna to be hurt, or, worse, cause a scene at work. Given that McKenna was a rational human being and an understanding friend, he really didn’t think she would.

Felicity’s nonchalance about the situation made it even more likely that McKenna was unoffended and already over it, but he couldn’t remember her exact wording.

Truth be told, he spent most of their conversation in a daze, trying to process the fact that Felicity was not seeing Ray Palmer and that he had not lost his shot. Although, the second part was a technicality since he assumed said shot, if ever shot, would go incredibly far afield regardless of how gently Felicity might let him down. She was too nice to be anything but utterly apologetic about it.

His relief upon learning of her singular devotion to work had to have been noticeable. Then inertia paralyzed him once more. Surely, there would be a more appropriate time to make his interest known than right after being corrected on her relationship status. Perhaps when he possessed eight abs again, instead of a meager six, to better distract her from his intellectual and emotional shortcomings.

And this was why he should keep his damned mouth shut. Felicity should and would do better than a coward who tucked tail and ran at every opening because he was (frankly) scared of her rejection. Someone like Ray who hadn’t hesitated to declare how much he needed her, even if he had meant it strictly in the business sense.

Absently, he rubbed his chest over his heart, as if it would soothe the ache.

 

* * *

 

Felicity felt like the heroine in a romance novel, maybe a plucky lead character in a 1980s teen movie.

During the last few events, Oliver would spot her from across the room, a determined look would take over his expression, and he would cut through the crowd in long strides. When he reached her, Felicity half-expected him to bow over her hand and request her dance card or, on her more fanciful nights, to sweep her into his arms and carry her off. She imagined his biceps could manage it, too, with how they strained against the confines of his sleeves.

But... nothing.

Maybe if she took off her glasses like the final pièce de résistance of a makeover montage. But, no, he’d seen her without her glasses before, and her wardrobe upgrade had been some time ago. There was no third act catalyst to spur him into action. They were known quantities to each other by this point. Oliver had witnessed her flaws and quirks and whatever appeal she might have to a man like him, and obviously, the cumulative effect wasn’t going to inspire him to undying devotion or even momentary madness.

It’d be one thing if he just looked like he did, but Oliver saw her and valued her. Why else would the man push to have her ideas funded? Some might have seen it as overstepping, but she’d been on the other end, where men— _boys_ —reacted to her intellect by trying to take credit for it, and Oliver’s respect and assistance were much more preferable. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t earned and worked for the opportunity and success otherwise. Plenty of others had received a hand up in the business world, hers just happened to come from a man because the technology and/or venture capital world weren’t exactly teeming with high-powered women. 

Oliver didn’t stop there, though. He seemed to catalog her random preferences and deploy his recollections at opportune times for maximum impressiveness. Nuts—tree nuts and not legumes—seemed to disappear from the recent hors d’oeuvres offerings. A more decent selection of reds would be available. She would somehow find herself on the other side of the room from men who’d acted rudely or inappropriately towards her. Whenever she tried to question him, Oliver responded with a wink and a knowing smirk.

How could she not be half in love with the unattainable jerk?

She didn’t even know why he bothered to seek her out at events like this. Near as she could tell, it was because Smoak Tech had become the shining jewel of QC’s repertoire of venture capital investments. Since they had been the first funded project under Oliver’s tenure as CEO, he must have wanted to keep the association fresh. By being consistently seen with her, the board had no choice but to remember that Oliver’s excellent decision-making skills had been the harbinger to the well-publicized success. She could imagine him now,  _Oh that free clinic donation will eat into your bottom line? But it’s offset by royalties and most favored nation pricing from Smoak Tech!_

Despite the initial funding from QC, she could always find another backer to buy them out. Felicity figured that was the reasoning behind Oliver’s considerateness, to keep her happy enough to stay affiliated despite their every wrong-footed personal interaction. Maybe conceited on her company’s part, but there was more than likely nothing personal about it.

Of course, she could always approach him herself to confirm, but even the idea of it seemed insurmountable. Certainly, he wouldn’t laugh at her. They were friends now, sort of, at the very least co-commiserators at events like this because misery loved company. But she didn’t relish the inevitable rejection in theory so the actual experience of it was to be avoided as long as possible, ideally forever. After all, what did she have to offer to a man who could—and allegedly did—have anyone he desired?

If only Ray weren’t happily with Nora. They could have been convenient scapegoats for each other, although he—and she—deserved better than just convenience. Hard to remember when she was staring down the barrel of eternal solitude while her crush object pranced around being perfect and uninterested.

 

* * *

 

“I like your dress.”

_I like you_ , his brain corrected automatically.

Oliver focused instead on the zipper wrapping around her thigh. His staring was bordering on impolite, but he kept having ideas. Really appealing ideas he would like to experience first-hand and could almost guarantee Felicity would enjoy as well.

When he managed to recalibrate his brain for conversation and not fantasy, Felicity was talking about how she ran the gamut of colors in the rainbow so red had to come back into play eventually. Evidently she did remember his comment. Not that he wanted her remembering times he’d pissed her off, but it was gratifying nonetheless.

The acknowledgment felt like a small lift of encouragement when all he could focus on were his recent aborted attempts to broach the subject of attraction and affection.

So many times he had seen Felicity, been close to overwhelmed by her mere presence, and rushed over in an attempt to articulate any of that. Then he’d near enough to process her expression, and it was always one of disbelief. Like maybe she were trying to imagine the outcome of his playing at grand-gesturing romance novel hero and just... couldn’t.

Oliver would have welcomed hope, and he would have even accepted wariness or surprise, which might have given him an opening for explanation. But disbelief implied that Felicity had considered the possibility, rejected it, and could not believe that he hadn’t reached the same conclusion of ridiculousness. 

By the time he completed his trajectory, he would be defeated, his courage having pulled the emergency parachute, and something unfamiliar to him would wash over Felicity’s expression before they settled into painfully polite, casual conversation.

“I mean,” Felicity petered to an end as that adorable frown of frustration formed, “Thank you. Your suit’s nice, too. Would be nicer if you would cut me off when I babble like that though.”

He frowned. This was the first time she’d expressed that sentiment to him. Oliver knew she was sometimes embarrassed by her runway trains of thought around others but never suspected she felt the same around him, not when he enjoyed them so much.

“I like listening to you,” he said plainly, in an attempt to reassure her.

“Really,” she snorted in disbelief—there it was again—and tossed out an almost rhetorical, “What else do you like?”

“Everything.”

Fumbling for a socially appropriate answer, he fell silent. Oliver didn’t realize what had happened until Felicity’s lips parted, her mouth slowly dropping open as she gazed at him in open disbelief for the third time. Now, his silence stemmed from dawning horror, the realization that his inside thought had successfully executed a jailbreak.

Before he could attempt an explanation, Felicity snapped her jaw shut and pressed a trembling hand to her chest, a brittle laugh choking her. “Yes, well, if the world were my oyster, I’d like everything, too.”

Oliver considered contradicting her and clarifying that he meant everything about _her_. He certainly did not like this room, or 99% of the people in it, or this particular tie, or the lacking size of the crab cake he consumed a moment ago, or the meeting with Walter’s assistant CFO this afternoon. For a man who possessed the world as his oyster, he cared for little in it besides his family, the good his company had the potential to do, and the increasingly discomforted woman in front of him, who did not look at all receptive to his attention.

“Right. Spoilt for choice, I guess,” he agreed with a rough, insincere chuckle.

Felicity shuttered even further, her shoulders reaching her ears, and looked especially disheartened. Oliver wasn’t sure what it was he said other than the absolute wrong thing and hadn’t the slightest clue how to go about fixing it. “I meant—”

“I know what you meant.”

Despite the words, Felicity’s tone wasn’t harsh but just plain _sad_. His stomach dropped, and he reached out instinctively. As he should have expected, Felicity pushed back a step with a confused glance toward his outstretched hands.

“I think I’ll head home now.”

“You’re upset.” He took the risk of voicing the obvious even though it made her frown at him for being rude enough to point it out. “Let me take you.”

“No,” she refused quickly, head shaking, “It’s alright. I actually have a driver tonight so you should stay and enjoy all your _choices_. Thank you for offering.”

Her parting comments were excessively cordial, not to mention passive-aggressive, and his blood ran cold as he watched her hurry through the crowd.

 

* * *

 

Once she exited the car, Felicity rushed up the driveway since there was no telling when the clouds above might release their burden. A step outside the front door, she steeled herself for the awkwardness within then promptly ran into the receiving line, headed up by none other than Walter Steele. The play on words made her chuckle a little, enough that she had a warm smile on her face when the usually staid CFO greeted her fondly. 

There had been enough people ahead of her in line that Felicity knew a kiss on the cheek was not Walter’s standard greeting for visitors to his—well, his stepfamily’s, to be technical—home, and it in fact made Moira Queen pay more unsettling attention to her introduction than her usual façade of politeness. 

Felicity was happy to move on from the matriarch’s piercing gaze, until she was confronted with the Queen siblings.

Apparently having exchanged his corporate duties for big brother ones tonight, Oliver was preoccupied with trying to keep his mostly grown but still younger sister in place for the length of this outdated exercise. Doting older brother was a good look on him, as most things were, and her mental armor dismantled slightly as she observed their relaxed behavior. The moment he registered her presence, though, Oliver practically snapped to attention. His back and arms went rigid, and a deliberately neutral expression replaced the teasing smile he’d been directing at Thea before he robotically turned to fully face her.

“Felicity,” he breathed in a tone that was completely at odds with his posture.

With a sly smile, Thea pounced on the opportunity afforded by their reticence. “Felicity!” she repeated gleefully, like they knew each other much better than the two or three times they’d briefly met in circumstances just like this.

Deceptively long and strong arms wrapped around her neck and pulled her into a hug. Felicity sent a desperately confused look at Oliver, but he refused to meet her eyes so she cautiously patted the girl’s back until she was released from the stranglehold.

“I’ll find you later,” Thea whispered conspiratorially in her ear as she pulled away. “Enjoy yourself!” was the unnecessarily loud suggestion/command to cover the whispering. 

Nodding, Felicity turned to head into the crush of the party. She spared another glance over her shoulder, and when he noticed, Oliver waved, a little awkwardly. At least until an exasperated Thea slugged his shoulder and smacked his hand down. To Felicity, she made a shoo’ing motion, that conspiratorial look still on her face.

_Weird_ , Felicity mused about the generally normal if not aloof Thea, as she took careful inventory of all the usual suspects at this type of event. _Were the Queens about to induct everyone into a cult or something?_

 

* * *

 

_What_ , Oliver swiped a frustrated hand down the length of his face, _was that?_

He knew Felicity was coming, had prepared to see her again after the absolute train wreck of their last interaction (he still wasn’t entirely sure what went wrong), and still epically choked. As embarrassing as Thea’s display of exaggerated familiarity was, it could have been much worse had they been left to their own devices. Still, he would have to question his sister later about her unusually friendly greeting.

_Now! Now would be a good time!_  The alarms blared when he spotted Thea and Felicity huddled in a corner across the room. 

As if sensing his gaze, Thea took Felicity’s hand and pulled her down the nearest hallway. Oliver performed a mental catalog of the house and all the places that one hall might lead before deciding there were too many possibilities. Suddenly, he missed Roy desperately and cursed the young man’s work ethic for picking up another shift tonight and being unavailable to distract his sister.

Trying to remain inconspicuous, Oliver circled the room to reach the hall, making it a few feet in before realizing there was no trace of the women.

 

* * *

 

“What are we doing here?” she asked warily. 

Thea seemed harmless, but if she decided to leave her here, Felicity was certain she’d starve before finding her way out again. In fact, if anyone in the Queen family were the murdering type, there would be plenty of places on their estate to hide a body. Not the best realization to have when isolated with a near stranger.

Thea shrugged. Felicity may not have had any younger siblings but even she could recognize that insincere expression of innocent nonchalance. “I thought you might like to see the reading room.”

Which was less a reading room and more a library complete with rolling ladders and wingback armchairs that looked perfect for Starling City’s many rainy days. 

Felicity nodded absently because, yes, she did in fact love this room and everything in it and never wanted to leave if only she could have her tablet and a bank of screens and servers, too. But why _Thea Queen_ of all people would know that was a mystery. So she focused away from the shelf of what looked like first editions and back on the scheming young heiress.

“It’s an impressive collection,” she noted with feigned carelessness. Those etiquette classes were the only things keeping Felicity from blurting out that she was moving into this room immediately and she hoped the family wouldn’t mind a squatter too much.

Thea hummed in a way that broadcasted how little she bought Felicity’s act but she still smiled genuinely. “I figured you would appreciate it. I’m afraid neither of us appreciate it much, but Ollie said you’re a fan of the classics.”

Somehow, the nickname that was excessively juvenile and simpering when coming from the women throwing themselves at Oliver during charity events sounded sweet when coming from his sister. That revelation distracted Felicity for a moment from the bigger reveal. But only for a moment.

“Wait. Oliver—”

Railroading right over her, Thea continued with an eager nod, “He’s told me so much about you. I feel like I already know you. Like we could be _sisters_.”

They both froze at the last word. Felicity watched with interest when an almost imperceptible wince crossed Thea’s expression for a fraction of a second. As she tried (and failed) to process the implication, she felt strangely disconnected observing Thea’s obvious machinations, like a mini-Moira Queen finding her feet. Missteps, such as overplaying one’s hand, were inevitable.

Near impossible as it were to believe, the apparent endgame was to convince Felicity that Oliver _liked_ her. Enough to pay attention to her interests and speak of her to his family at least. Oddly, Felicity would have found it even harder to believe had Thea not been so obvious, and so self-conscious of being obvious.

Before Thea could try to right the ship so to speak—and Felicity was curious as to how she would attempt it—Oliver burst through the door. His panicked look was hurriedly replaced by one of studied nonchalance. The bad acting was made all the more apparent by the fact that Thea had used the exact same expression just minutes ago.

Maybe, just maybe, Thea was telling the truth. Maybe Oliver _did_ like her (back). The sudden realization of the possibility was the only reason Felicity could give for the odd blooming in her chest. A pressure filled her from the inside, spreading out to tingle her fingers and toes and cause mild lightheadedness.

As if unaware of the odd tension, Thea brightly greeted “Hi, Ollie,” then slid out the door and chirped, “Bye, Ollie,” before closing it behind her.

And then they were alone. Not alone in a crowded room as their previous conversations had often felt like. But absolutely and completely _alone_.

Oliver stayed practically pinned to the door, his fingers tapping at the wood like he was trying to ground himself. For the first time, Felicity realized that he looked nervous. _Was_ Thea right? Could it be that this man, impressive in so many ways she spent so long trying to ignore, reciprocated her—

No. Because she didn’t like him. She did not like Oliver Queen because there was not a snowball’s chance in hell a guy who looked like that, who was a devoted son and brother, who worked hard to improve his company and city, who saw her as a worthwhile, intelligent human, could actually be interested in her. So it was just better not to dream.

Except there was a snowball’s chance apparently. In fact, it was possible hell was in the midst of a record-setting blizzard. His sister had said as much. 

Now that the door in her mind had been cracked, the hypotheticals stampeded through. Felicity tried to recall every last interaction with Oliver, every passing, inane conversation, every moment she assumed he was mocking her, or, at the very least, teasing and deriving entertainment from her embarrassment. Could it all have nerves, his and hers?

 

* * *

 

Oliver stood in front of the door, fingers twitching at his side to prevent any larger nervous movements. 

To his surprise, Felicity had a soft look on her face, hopeful with a touch of awkwardness. He immediately decided he adored that expression and would like to see it every day. If only he knew how to accomplish that.

Twisting her hands together, Felicity managed a tremulous smile. Nervousness rolled off her in waves. “Your sister—”

“Has an active imagination,” he quickly interrupted, “Whatever she told you, it’s best not to put any stock in it.”

There was no telling what manner of sins Thea had divulged in the short time. Hopefully, that would cover the gamut of errors he hoped never to have to explain to Felicity.

Again, Oliver watched helplessly as the life seemingly drained out of Felicity. In slow degrees, the cozy warmth leeched out of the room, leaving the previously intimate space feeling empty and barren. He may as well have doused the lights and opened the windows to the storm brewing outside. All because her expression closed off and she turned away from him.

“I see.” Her voice was brittle yet hard. A frustrated, tired sigh pushed through her lips before she gestured at the door behind him. “I should go. I doubt your mother appreciates strangers this far in your home.”

Felicity took a small step forward, but his feet didn’t budge. He didn’t want her to be a stranger. He wanted her to be as comfortable in this home as he and Thea were. 

Before she could question his inaction, he stepped aside and swung the door open, motioning her through. He secured the reading room’s door behind him and turned to find Felicity hesitating in the hall, probably unsure which to take of the three options available to her. 

Oliver approached to lead the way and instinctively offered her his arm. Disheartened, he watched as she eyed his limb warily before carefully sliding her hand through the crook of his elbow with the lightest touch. In his mind’s eye, just for masochistic purposes, he called up the image of her complete lack of hesitation in taking Ray’s arm.

Still, Oliver wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. He shifted and flexed so she could more clearly feel the definition of his bicep, which had the added bonus of drawing her against his side. Felicity stumbled at the unexpected movement, pressing herself even closer.

“Oh sorry,” he apologized with some amount of sincerity. Opportunistic he might be, but predatory he was not, so Oliver loosened his grip and waited for Felicity to pull away. She didn’t, and he suppressed a grin all the way back to the ballroom.

 

* * *

 

_Jerk_ , Felicity cursed although she didn’t actually mean that.

It wasn’t his fault Oliver shut down her budding hope with barely two sentences. The man couldn’t possibly know what was going on in her delusional mind when he was trying to save face from whatever potential embarrassment Thea was causing. For all he knew, his sister had been regaling her with stories of that time he peed on a cop car.

Yes, she knew about that. Yes, she liked him anyway. No, she didn’t know what was wrong with herself.

Felicity fell into bed, staring sightlessly at her ceiling. So her life wasn’t one of those romance novels disguised as classic literature and squirreled away in the Queen’s “reading room.” So the reformed brooding lord of the manor wasn’t harboring repressed feelings of love and desire for her bookish self. At least there wasn’t a mentally ill ex-wife locked in the attic, or she was pretty sure. Oliver’s most notorious and most recent ex, as opposed to momentary distractions, was alive and well, do-gooding at the public defender’s office and dating his best friend, Tommy Merlyn. God, rich people, and rich-people-adjacent people, were so weird.

None of this was news, really, but her heart reacted to each slight and reminder of disinterest as if it were a fresh wound. It was crazy, especially given their not entirely friendly relationship, but sometimes she couldn’t help but feel as if she and Oliver were on the cusp of _something_. Then one of them would do or say something contrary, and the moment would be lost. More than likely, it was all in her head, a side effect of too much work and too little social interaction. Next time, she would know better.

Felicity drifted to sleep on promises of a fortified soul and the phantom feel of a strong bicep under her hand.

 

* * *

 

“I set it up perfectly for you!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Felicity! I subtly implied—”

“Speedy, you haven’t been subtle a day in your life.”

“I _subtly_ implied that you were legitimately interested in her. Like as a person, not just for sex. And then I left you two alone where no one—AKA Mom—knew where you were.”

“So you kidnapped us?”

“ _Oh my god._ Where is Mom hanging up the mistletoe? Do I have to do everything around here? Give me thirty minutes at the holiday party. I’ll get you your dream girl, no matter how hard you try to screw it up.”

 

* * *

 

Jerry interrupted her review of the latest reports from her finance team with a tone of apology. As much as Smoak Tech was on the brink of independence, Felicity couldn’t afford to turn away a member of the Queen family, even one who was barely legal and completely uninterested in the family business. Her highly competent assistant knew as much and so ignored her standing order for an hour of peace and quiet post-lunch.

“Hi,” Thea greeted brightly, dropping her purse onto a chair. With more self-awareness than Felicity thought she possessed, Thea frowned at the mess on her desk and froze, “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

“It’s okay.” Felicity shook her head and tried to tidy the disaster zone before giving up. “What can I do for you?” She gestured to the other chair and waited as Thea seated herself and pursed her lips, looking thoughtful.

As far as Felicity was aware, Thea Queen’s interests were limited to boys, shopping, and her new car, which made her sound spoiled but also no different than a lot of twenty-year-olds. There wasn’t a single reason Felicity could think of as to why Thea would take an unexpected field trip to a downtown office housing one of her family company’s many investment interests. Well, aside from their incredibly confusing and inexplicable interaction at the last event.

“I’m helping my mom with the holiday party,” she finally began, obviously choosing her words with care. “I noticed you had declined the invitation.”

Felicity nodded and gestured widely to the dead forest worth of paper littering her desk. Year’s end, she had discovered, was a particularly busy time of year as everyone scrambled to get their affairs in order before the holidays. “I’m a little busy,” she deadpanned.

Thea smirked and shrugged. “I figured. But I also thought it couldn’t hurt to ask in person. I know, uh, _people_ would be disappointed if you weren’t there.”

Immediately, Felicity understood the implication. _Oliver._ Thea meant Oliver because for whatever reason, she was persisting in this delusion that her brother _liked_ Felicity. Normally, her heart would jump and take a flying leap into fantasy land, but Felicity had promised herself she would know better the next time around. So she stayed silent, trying her damnedest to look unimpressed, until Thea cracked a sigh.

“Look, it’s not _just_ that. I know you’ve been to a bunch of events for visibility and goodwill and stuff. It’s just— This holiday party, it’s my mom’s _thing_ , alright? And she really expects a good showing, especially from the QC business world. Even if you and my brother are being complete idiots, I wouldn’t want you to, like, take a huge step back just because you missed a dumb party. I don’t care much about the company, but you’re a woman kicking ass and taking names in a man’s world. It’s pretty impressive, you know?”

For a minute, Felicity just stared. She couldn’t figure out how much of this was Thea being manipulative and how much was an honest attempt to be helpful. If only Walter hadn’t been so kind to her at the last Queen family event, then maybe Moira Queen wouldn’t have paid any particular attention to her. But, now, she couldn’t risk that somehow Mrs. Queen would notice her absence and hold it against her. Pettiness like that seemed like a dumb business move, but Queen Consolidated was entrenched enough to withstand it. If there was even the slightest possibility Thea was being truthful...

Sighing, she forfeited, “I’ll be there.”

“Great!” Thea perked up immediately. “I’ll just change the guest list before Mom notices, and we’ll pretend that this isn’t basically extortion.”

“I think it’s just duress,” Felicity eased Thea’s conscience with a half-hearted smile.

With her victory secured, and Felicity had no doubt that’s exactly what Thea thought of it as, Thea made a quick exit.

 

* * *

 

“You did what?!”

“You’re welcome.”

“Have you lost your mind? Do we all need to go back to therapy to deal with your narcissism issues?”

“Hey, that’s uncalled for. And this is, like, the opposite of narcissism. In fact, it’s selflessness, charity even. After all, you _are_ a lost cause.”

“Because I don’t believe in kidnapping and extortion to express my interest in a woman?”

“Hah! So you are interested. I knew it. And Felicity said it wasn’t extortion, just duress.”

“I don’t have to answer to you.”

“Fine. Just as long as you grow a pair by the party.”

 

* * *

 

Felicity prepped with care for the big event. If she was going to be coerced into showing up, well then she was going to _show up_. There would be no way for Moira Queen to miss her presence, and, well, she would just do her best to avoid Oliver.

The Queens knew everyone of import in town and beyond. Surely, there would be some attractive and intelligent company to keep her from the usual routine of engaging in boring networking conversations until being singled out for increasingly awkward and contentious interactions with Oliver. At least she hoped and prayed that was the case.

Straightening the skirt of her royal blue gown—a tribute to her Jewish roots and another dismissal of Oliver’s stated preference of red—Felicity walked confidently into the Queen manor. Thankfully, there was no receiving line this time, just a handful of hired staff helpfully collecting coats. Felicity forfeited hers and headed straight for the nearest bar.

Or so she tried.

The ballroom was an arresting sight. Pine— _Christmas_ —trees lined the walls. The floor had been covered with a white substance resembling snow but lacking the slipperiness and chill of the real thing, which was awfully considerate for all the women donning high heels. A faux ceiling of a network of greenery had been installed, and stars, or LED lights at least, winked intermittently from the darkened sky “high above” the branches. All in all, it felt like Felicity had stepped out of the foyer and into the woods.

As she marveled at the decor, her eye wandered over an uncomfortable Oliver, trapped with two board members known to be his most outspoken critics. For as much flack as she gave Oliver, she knew him to be an actually adept CEO. Maybe not the most business-minded, but that’s what he had knowledgeable support teams for. Oliver’s strengths lay in his clear vision for the company’s longevity and his uncompromising dedication to his community and employees. The last thing he deserved was to be harassed at a supposedly festive occasion.

“Gentlemen,” she interrupted with her best fake smile. 

Felicity didn’t miss the barely perceptible widening of Oliver’s eyes while he took in the full effect of her outfit. He may not find her total package desirable, but at least she could elicit some physical reaction, even though she chided herself for caring.

The board members practically salivated as they recalibrated their attack, locking onto the new target she provided. Young, upstart, _female_. Oh, they were about to have a field day bombarding her with uneducated, outdated opinions about technology they didn’t care to understand. Felicity wouldn’t give them the opportunity.

“If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Queen is requesting Oliver,” she fibbed. Her hand gestured toward Oliver generally, but he caught it mid-air, and she used it to pull him away from the critics.

Felicity headed for the crowd surrounding one of the bars stationed around the room. With any luck, the board members would lose interest as to their exact path and the fact that Moira Queen was unlikely to be at the final destination. She was so focused on the subterfuge that it didn’t quite occur to her that she was holding Oliver’s hand until he intertwined their fingers.

Taking over their trajectory, he lead her to the cover of a large Christmas tree while Felicity continued to marvel at the unexpected (and pleasant) hand holding.

“Thank you,” Oliver said sincerely, squeezing her hand gently and still not letting go. “How did you know I needed saving?”

Surprisingly, he had some calluses, contrary to his very charmed lifestyle. And his hand was dry but cool, reminding her of that saying “cold hands, warm heart.” Felicity tried her best not to consider the size of his appendage or the length of his fingers. Instead, she wondered what he thought of her hand and how it felt in his.

Oliver noticed her staring and promptly disengaged, shaking his fingers a few times once returned to his side. 

The spell broken, Felicity could finally focus on his question. “Oh, uh, Dennis and Baxter? They haven’t exactly kept quiet about how much they hate change and anything that might detract from their profit margin, including their new CEO’s community outreach initiatives.”

“I didn’t think you paid attention to that.”

“Of course, I pay attention. It’s—” Felicity coughed on the admission of “you” and rephrased. “QC’s my majority investor. Its reputation and financial solvency are kind of important.”

“Right.”

A strange look crossed Oliver’s face as he somehow drew himself up taller. Suddenly, their little nook was no longer intimate but coldly intimidating. Unbidden, the “brooding lord of the manor” description came to mind again. Now was Oliver more Darcy or Rochester? And what did it even matter?

A sneeze broke their odd silence, and Felicity scrunched her nose in response to Oliver’s startled yet polite, “Bless you.” “I think it’s all the pine. Never had Christmas trees growing up so the allergy is a recent realization.”

To her surprise, Oliver’s lips quirked just slightly, a clear indication of his amusement. God, what did she have to be embarrassed about now? Was he really going to taunt her for her lack of Christmas spirit when it was legitimately health-related?

“Sorry,” he apologized as if sensing her wariness. “It’s just a little ironic since you’re Jewish. Like you’re literally allergic to Christmas.”

Felicity sighed her relief that he was being understanding before the skepticism took hold again. She wasn’t the greatest at being observant, never took the holidays off (a side effect of having a single mother who couldn’t afford to), wasn’t involved or visible in the community, and didn’t wear a Star of David necklace or anything obvious really. On second thought, she could stand to try a bit more.

“Wait, how do you know I’m Jewish?”

Oliver frowned, opened his mouth once or twice, then tilted his head in thought. “You must have mentioned it before. I can’t remember when but I remember it well. Why do you think we’ve renamed this the _holiday_ party?”

Her mouth dropped open. A moment later, Felicity slammed it shut with an audible click. She always assumed the change had been for belated political correctness, not for _her_. Oliver squirmed as if just realizing the magnitude of his admission.

Was Thea and her own overactive imagination right? Oliver had always collected details about her and worked behind-the-scenes to convenience her life in big and little ways. Despite their every wrong-footed conversation, could it actually be because he liked _her_ and not just the solidity of her business plans?

 

* * *

 

“Do you remember when Thea showed me the reading room?”

Did he remember the sheer panic at the thought of everything his meddlesome little sister could have been revealing to Felicity to lower his (already lacking, he was sure) esteem in her eyes? Did he remember the frantic searching down seemingly infinite hallways? Did he remember Felicity looking at him softly, with a spark of hope, only for his attempt at fumbling reassurance to snuff out that light?

“Yes,” he muttered bitterly. 

Why couldn’t they go back to minutes ago? When Felicity had appeared like his saving grace and he’d gotten to hold her small hand, firm and secure in his for too brief a time? Why did they have to rehash yet another disappointing encounter?

Felicity nodded faintly in acknowledgement, licking her lips before continuing, “She said that you tell her about me. That you notice me. Is that true?”

His blood roared to life, rushing to his head in a way that made his vision tunnel and his ears fill with static. Oh god, he’d been outed by the little sneak who was decidedly not very sneaky. Quick on her feet she might have been, but Thea reveled in saying whatever she wanted whenever she wanted without ever having to bear consequences. Such was the privilege of a younger sister (in a moneyed, well-to-do family).

Was that why Felicity looked so disappointed with his flippant response that night? Because Thea had (correctly) lead her to believe that Oliver liked her, and Oliver’s reaction had been to paint his sister as an impulsive liar who wasn’t to be trusted? Did that mean Felicity wanted his interest to be real and not the delusional makings of a bored socialite?

The nervous energy surrounding Felicity seemed to dissipate the longer he made her wait for an answer. She drew her arms up to hug her stomach, and Oliver stepped closer to shield the action. He was discomfited by the thought of anyone else seeing and taking advantage of the rare display of vulnerability.

Instead of answering her question directly, he called upon another memory. “Do you remember when I told you Thea has an active imagination?”

Felicity’s expression nearly crumpled before she caught herself, composing neutrality quickly. Just as speedily, Oliver cursed himself. In his bid to save face, he’d once again phrased his response as an implied rejection. 

Setting her chin in a stubborn clench, Felicity nodded decisively. If he hadn’t been standing so close, close enough that she would have to touch him to leave this corner, he was sure she would have already made her escape, from his presence and his home.

“She has to,” Oliver continued unsteadily, “to make up for my cowardice.”

Her jaw slackened slightly as her brow furrowed, trying to puzzle out his meaning. He didn’t make her wait.

“You see, I’ve been so intimidated by you that I haven’t— Nothing I’ve said to you has been as I intended. Every time, I’ve tried to tell you that I like you, would like to take you out sometime, somewhere that doesn’t involve stuffy events where we’re both mostly miserable, my words or my actions have done the clear opposite. Thea knows how frustrated I am that I can’t figure out how to talk to you, that she’s filled in the gaps on her own. Imagined this world where I’m not an absolute dullard around you and where we might have something resembling a chance.”

“Isn’t it funny—” 

God, was she going to laugh at him? He supposed he deserved it, for all those times he’d metaphorically tugged her ponytail for attention. Still, Oliver set his stance just in case the rejection knocked him off his feet.

“—when worlds collide?”

It was Oliver’s turn to send her a confused look and try to understand her hidden meaning.

“You think Thea’s off in this imaginary world where I might like you, too, and that the real world’s a lost cause. So isn’t it funny when fact meets fiction?” Felicity gave him a hopeful smile and erased  a few more of the inches between them. “I like you, too, Oliver, and haven’t known how to say it either.”

He smiled genuinely then very carefully settled his hands on her waist, fingertips stretching to meet the skin bared by the cutouts in her dress. “Then I’d like to propose a different form of communication.”

Her smile stretched wider, became something along the lines of brilliant and gorgeous. It was his last thought before “Finally!” as Felicity’s smiling lips met his own.

 

* * *

 

Felicity knew she shouldn’t be risking causing a scene, especially not in front of a crowd of local, regional, and national businesspeople. At the moment, she didn’t particularly care. And when Oliver wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing them insistently together, she knew she wouldn’t care for a good, long while.

 

* * *

 

“Speedy to Arsenal. We’ve established contact. Abort the mission. Over.”

“Uh, what?”

“They’re kissing! You can stop planting mistletoe everywhere.”

“Are you kidding me? And after you loaded me up with an arsenal’s worth of parasitic plants and had me climbing around these branches all night? I’m covered in pine sap!”

“Well, stop your bitching, meet me in my room, and I’ll help you wash it off.”

“Copy. Over.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve spent a lot of time with modern _Pride and Prejudice_ adaptations lately if you couldn’t already tell.


End file.
